


An Education In All Things Personal

by Killedbycroc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killedbycroc/pseuds/Killedbycroc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a new school year begins, Dean finds himself in university, unsure of what to do with his life or if it's even worth living anymore. Before long he meets Castiel, an academic scholarship student with the social skills of an outcast - but can he find a reason to convince Dean to stay alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As this is currently a WIP (and I haven't fully formed the plot yet), archive warnings may be changed as this is updated.

Dean didn’t like this taxi; the back of the seat was too hard, the windows wouldn’t open, and the radio was tuned into some god-awful station. Dad’s car was never like this, he thought glumly to himself – even though it had been several decades old and shaky at the best of times, at least it had been consistent. Shame that was the only thing that had been.

“You wanna head up to the main building?” Those were the first words the cabbie spoke during the hour that they had been in the cab together.

“Just um… just head to the dorm building.” Dean murmured barely loud enough for the cabbie to hear; he knew that everyone would be going to the central building, parents tearfully saying farewell to their child as they remark how proud they are… It still felt too soon to be around so many people.

The taxi swerved into another lane, taking a right up a slightly smaller side road. Soon the car gradually came to a stop outside what appeared to be an apartment building, its red brick exterior slightly weathered, and many of the windows open despite the drizzle that was threatening to become a downpour. “Here you go sunshine, that’s $43.22.” Out of his pocket Dean pulled out a couple of crumpled notes; he was hoping the ride was going to be cheaper than $30, but he wasn’t willing to argue over the cost.

“There’s $50, keep the change,” he grunted back, not wanting to risk the cab driving off with all his luggage (a grand total of a small suitcase and a rucksack that had seen better days) just because he hadn’t given a tip, despite the fact that he needed those extra $7 for food.

Sighing exasperatedly, the cabbie dragged himself out of his seat and popped open the boot; Dean followed suit, watching as his bags were dumped carelessly onto the side of the road. “Good luck kid,” the cabbie yelled over his shoulder as he got back into the cab, “you look like you’re gonna need it.” And with that, the car screeched away, leaving Dean to face what was to be his new life alone.

“Well isn’t this just fantastic,” he muttered, slinging the rucksack over his shoulder and dragging the suitcase behind him as he made his way towards the building – he could hear all the people inside, laughing and joking with each other, reassuring comments and tearful goodbyes with promises to call every day that would be broken within the first week. As he got closer to the doors, Dean could see the people inside, the people who he would be sharing living spaces with for the next year – and already he was beginning to regret his decision. Most of the guys around seemed to be the jock type, yelling across the room as they saw each other for the first time in a few months, comparing room numbers to try and see who was paired up with whom. And the girls… well, on a good day Dean could get at least three of their numbers before the sun went down.

Avoiding eye contact with anyone, he walked up to the front desk, behind which a blond woman sat. “Yes, what do you want?” she snapped at him, slamming the phone down whilst tapping away furiously at the ancient computer in front of her.

“I just need my room number,” Dean replied with a similar attitude, but it went unnoticed by the receptionist.

“Name?” she asked, staring blankly at him when she didn’t receive an answer instantly.

“Dean Winchester.” Turning her attention back to the computer, she clicked several times before rummaging through the pile next to her mouse.

Holding out the keys, she dully recited a speech that she had already been through fifty times today. “You’re room 210 on the second floor, up the stairs on your left and down to the end of the corridor. The first key is for your room, the second key opens the main door if you come in after 1am. This front desk is manned at all times, and any people you have come over will have to sign in here first. Any problems with your room, just talk to the person on the desk and they’ll sort it out.” Turning her attention back to the computer, she dropped the keys into his hands. “Welcome to Breckinridge Hall.”

Pushing past the people standing in the way of the stairs, Dean lugged his bags up the staircase, keeping his mind clear of any dangerous thoughts by concentrating on the banging of his suitcase against the metal banister. It was a shrill, tinny sound, but it wasn’t a surprise since he was travelling light – three pairs of jeans and five tops were all he had.

Reaching the end of the corridor, he put his bags down as he tried to remember which key opened his door. After the first key was unsuccessful, he shoved the door open forcefully and threw the bags in front of him before swiftly closing the door and locking it behind him. The grey overcast sky bled into every corner of the room, which currently was only occupied by a single bed, a chest of drawers, and a desk which had several leaflets and pieces of paper arranged neatly on top of it. Most of them were about different clubs and unions and his class timetable, but Dean pushed them all to one side and picked his rucksack off the floor, rummaging through it until he found the one possession he gave a crap about. Out of the bag he pulled a photo of his brother, Sam, from his freshman year; it was hard to believe that the picture was only a year old, it felt like it had been much longer…

Placing the photo in the window, Dean dumped the suitcase onto the bed, emptying his few belongings into the unnecessarily oversized drawers. This was the first time he had been completely on his own, hell, this was the first time he’d had a room to himself, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. The silence that surrounded him was suddenly overwhelming - like it was trying to claw away at his little remaining sanity, determined to claim it as their own and leave him as a shell of a person.  
  
They had told him it would take time for him to feel 'normal' again, that it was perfectly natural to want some separation from people, but it had been almost 9 months and he still felt as lonely as before. He just wanted somebody. He just wanted to have Sammy back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry it took forever for an update, but I had exams and then I got too lazy to write and then I was on holiday for three weeks... I hope you guys can forgive me.
> 
> Also, the Ruby in this fic is the season 3 version.

Unintentionally, Dean had soon fallen asleep on the bed, covers somewhat creased but still in place. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearing 10pm – the hunger in his stomach was quite real, seeing as he hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, though he was unwilling to go to the kitchen in search of food. He was desperate to get over this fear of people, needed to, otherwise there was no way he was going to make it a week through university. And it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, either.

Though the low rumblings of conversations and stereos on too high a volume could be heard through the paper-thin walls, he decided to attempt to sleep for the night, something he hadn’t been able to do recently. Picking up a small bag that had been concealed in his backpack, Dean headed into the small bathroom that was adjoined to his room (god bless the counsellor at high school who had been able to pull some strings last minute), flicking on the light switch to reveal harsh white tiles that nearly blinded him. It seemed like he had been living in the dark for so long.

It only took him a few minutes to clean his teeth and wash his face, now part of a routine that Dean associated with ‘normal’ and ‘mundane’. He didn’t like it; this ‘normal’ wasn’t a good one, it didn’t feel like it should have done.

Wiping the excess water off his face with a towel he’d taken from someone’s house, Dean finally looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in over two days – there were dark bags under his eyes, making him look closer to thirty rather than eighteen; his skin was pasty and rough stubble was beginning to grow after he’d forgotten to shave the day previous; and his eyes… there was a time before when they would light up a room, make everyone feel a little better, but now they were stone cold dead. He knew that he’d been looking a little rough around the edges lately, but he had no idea it was _this_ bad. Tearing his gaze away from his reflection, Dean reached for the last thing inside his bag, and found himself staring at them. The struggle to sleep had been obvious, anyone could see that, and when he was laying there at night, it was like his mind was unguarded, and suddenly all the thoughts he had managed to keep away during the day came creeping in… No, he didn’t need them. He was coping just fine without them, he would save them for another day. A more painful day.

The bottle was roughly dumped back into the bag, all the other items on top in a bad attempt to conceal it, to try and block _those_ thoughts out of his mind. Yes, he was strong enough to go another night without them, Dean pitifully tried to convince himself as he threw the covers off the bed and laid back onto the firm mattress. It was no use, though, as slowly but surely the poisoned words wormed their way back into his head. _You know it’s all your fault Dean, don’t you?_ He violently turned over to face the wall, focusing on the techniques the therapist taught him to keep calm – in through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the _You’d promised things were gonna get better. I guess that makes you a liar as well. A big fat liar and a_ out through the mouth. He tried to breathe a few more times, but it was pointless, the thoughts starting to scream around his head. _You don’t deserve to be here – screw ups belong in the gutter along with the rest of society’s unwanted. When are you going to admit it, Dean? When are you finally going to realise just what you are? There’s no point pretending anymore, you know the truth. You’re worthless._ “Shut up.” _You’re useless._ “Shut up.” _You’re nothi-_ “I said SHUT UP!” Dean sat up rigidly on the bed – he had no idea just how loud he had been, but judging from the silence on the other side of the wall, it had been loud enough.

Maybe one sleeping pill wouldn’t hurt. Just for tonight.

 

***

Shortly after forcibly swallowing down the bitter pill, Dean fell into a dreamless slumber – sure, he would still feel tired in the morning, but at least this way he’d get something that vaguely resembled rest. He continuously twitched and turned in his sleep, however, the mattress feeling uncomfortably like the ones in the countless motel rooms he’d crashed in previously.

There wasn’t a single moment of consciousness throughout the night, not until reality broke its way into Dean’s fragile fortress, one loud knock at a time. Quickly he tumbled away, unable to stop himself from falling off the bed as he was startled. “Wake up freshman,” a voice Dean didn’t recognise called from the other side of the door, “you’ve got five minutes until orientation, and I don’t want to get into shit just because you couldn’t get your sorry ass out of bed in time.” Footsteps carried the person away, audible because the outside world was a whole lot quieter this morning.

 _Maybe they all have hangovers already,_ Dean thought to himself. _Probably got ‘drunk’ on two beers and a couple of shots._ He had to laugh at that, the image of people who were barely out of their teens attempting to get wasted, and then using alcohol as an excuse for all the stupid shit they did… Dean immediately pulled himself up off the floor, grabbing a fresh change of clothes and heading into the bathroom to get ready in double time. Even if he didn’t care about the fate of that guy behind the door, Dean wasn’t quite ready to give up his free bed just yet.

 

***

By the time he’d made it outside and joined the back of the group of about fifty people, one of the seniors had already begun the introduction speech – a short guy whose receding hairline looked out-of-place on a student, with a taller guy with cropped blonde hair to his left, and a bored-looking girl with long blonde hair on his right. “Over the next three days,” the British accent announced, “you’ll endure pain, torment, and never-ending embarrassment in a series of tasks and trials to determine the weak from the strong. But don’t worry – we do this to you because we care.” An emotionless smirk broke out across his face, though Dean reckoned he was enjoying his temporary position of power more than he was letting on.

“God, who died and made him the King of Hell?” A nudge in his side forced Dean to turn and look at the girl stood next to him – she had her arms crossed loosely around her chest, while her wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and a repressed grin failed to stay off her face. Yep, she could definitely be Dean’s type.

“Someone I wouldn’t want to mess with,” he mumbled back, still not feeling up to his womanizing ways.

“Wow, don’t stretch yourself there, Chuckles.” Dean couldn’t help but to raise a smile at that; it had been a while since someone had used a comeback like that on him. “So he _does_ have a sense of humour then! Thank God, I was worried for a sec you were like the rest of this mindless hoard.”

“So does the wit have a name?”

“It’s Jo,” she exclaimed as she offered her hand. “Or Joanna Beth when my mom’s pissed off. And you?”

He returned the handshake. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean Winchester,” Jo’s grin couldn’t stay hidden any longer, “it’s very nice to meet you.”


End file.
